


Long Day

by PeaceHeather



Series: Merlin fics [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Angst? not sure, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, descriptions of past violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeaceHeather/pseuds/PeaceHeather
Summary: After a rescue mission gone wrong, Arthur and Merlin return home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm... not quite sure what this is. I was in a down mood and wanting some cuddles, and apparently that meant it was time to pamper Arthur and Merlin instead. Not beta-read, so any errors are mine own. It's kinda angsty? But it's not quite meant to be angst. It's meant to be more about the aftercare, I guess. I hope you enjoy it.

They'd rode out nobly, heads held high, eyes proud, their armor glittering and their bright red cloaks catching the light of the sun. Slavers had been spotted raiding the border villages, and the knights of Camelot were going to stop them.

They rode back in, a bedraggled, muddy, injured, exhausted mess.

Slavery was a horrible fate for anyone, even the serfs who were technically already bound to their leige lord's land. It only made sense that Arthur and his men would follow a raiding party back to their camp, intending to free the captives and return them to their homes. But the slavers had turned out to be well-armed and well-trained, and had no care whatsoever about the welfare of their current crop. When it became clear that Arthur's men would prevail, they'd thrown open two of the slave pens and started shoving the helpless peasants at the knights' horses, uncaring of how many got trampled.

The other three slave pens they'd set on fire, with the captives still inside.

Arthur could still hear their screams, carrying even over the sounds of the battle, and the way that sound had given way to choking and coughing as the smoke overcame them.

There had been children in those pens.

In the courtyard, everyone dismounted, and Arthur knew he heard more than one person groan either from the pain of injuries or from the ache of having to walk on legs and feet that were exhausted from battle and several day's ride. The horses stood with their heads hung low, and walked listlessly as the grooms led them away to their stables. They would be well cared for, Arthur knew, rubbed down and fed and placed in stalls that were warm and dry.

Arthur rather envied them, just at the moment. He still had to give his report to Uther before he could go to his own chambers, and with Merlin just as fatigued as the rest of them, he doubted that he would find a lit fire or a hot bath waiting when he was finally finished.

Not that he begrudged the other man his rest; if it hadn't been for Merlin, they would have lost every single one of the captives. Merlin had been the only one not caught up in the battle, the only one free to run to the pens and wrench the doors open, and the only one available to organize the captives. Merlin was the one who cut a few of them loose from their bonds, and then handed them the knives to free everyone else; he'd identified the ones who were more angry than afraid and sent them back into the fray. Arthur wouldn't have done it, since they were unarmored and untrained and it was his duty to protect people like that, but it had been their murderous rage that had helped turn the tide of the battle.

Merlin, meanwhile, had gotten the children and most of the women away to safety, and somehow managed to calm them all down, reuniting mothers with their children, setting up a triage, and beginning to tend injuries as best he could with his meager supplies. After the last slaver was dead, Arthur had looked around in a panic for his missing manservant, only to find him overseeing what had just become a refugee camp.

Arthur couldn't really object to Merlin's decisions. None of the captives was in any shape to travel, and besides, they still had to tend to the dead.

Despite his and Merlin's efforts, despite the knights' bravery and ferocity, there were far too many innocent dead.

* * *

 

By the time he'd finished reporting to his father, Arthur was swaying on his feet. He ached from head to toe, both from the battle and from the digging of dozens of graves for those whom the slavers had murdered. His vision kept blurring and his eyelids felt sticky when he tried to blink the fog away.

Uther had congratulated him on a job well done, but all Arthur could see were the faces of dead children, subjects and citizens whom he had failed.

His knees buckled twice on the stairs leading up to his chambers, and he only barely managed to catch himself before he could crack his knees on the stone. He was bracing himself with a hand on the wall by the time he got to his door.

Arthur staggered inside, and lurched to a halt in confusion. The fire was crackling merrily on the hearth, his bed covers were turned back and he could see a hot brick just peeking out from underneath, warming his bed. Behind the screen, a full tub of water sat with steam gently rising from the surface, and Arthur caught the sharp, clean smell of herbs in the bath water. On the table was a covered tray and a pitcher, also steaming, and a mug sitting by the plate rather than his usual goblet.

In front of the wardrobe stood Merlin, pulling out a night shirt and a fresh set of smallclothes.

It took Arthur a moment to dredge up the energy to speak. "What are you doing here?"

He half-expected a sarcastic retort, but, "Tending you," was all Merlin said. He glanced over his shoulder, and Arthur could see the fatigue written all over his features. "Is that a problem?"

"You're just as tired as I am," said Arthur. "When did… how did you…?" He shook his head and tried again. "Why are you here instead of resting?"

"I've got Gaius," said Merlin quietly. "You've got me."

And Arthur was just tired enough that he couldn't quite force back the surge of emotion welled up in his throat at that. "You had time for all this?"

"Well, I may have recruited a little help." Merlin smiled tiredly. "Here. Sit. Let's get you out of that armor."

"But you—"

"I'm the one has to scrub the mud from _your_ boots off these floors, I'll not have you tracking it in any further than that chair. Sit."

Arthur sat, too tired to even argue or point out his servant's insolence. Giving the prince orders. Ordinarily that would warrant at least a threat of time in the stocks, but Arthur just couldn't muster up the energy to be witty, even for a stupid joke. So he sat, and Merlin limped over to begin unbuckling his belt.

"You're hurt," said Arthur.

Merlin didn't answer, just setting his sword and scabbard on the table and beginning the process of pulling off Arthur's armor, one piece at a time. Arthur leaned forward to help shuck the maille shirt, and when he looked up, saw Merlin looking at him in concern.

"Stop your fretting. I'm fine."

"No, you're not."

Arthur sighed, and closed his eyes, and saw the face of a dead child staring back at him. He opened his eyes again, but did not look at his servant. "I will be." Then a thought occurred to him, that Merlin wasn't trained for the horrors of war, and he did look up, frowning. "What about you?"

"Had a cup of hot tea and a change of clothes while you gave your report."

"That's not what I meant." And Merlin likely knew it, too.

He only shrugged, though, unlacing the ties on Arthur's gambeson. "Raiders have hit Ealdor before," he said, eyes on his work. "And sometimes people didn't make it through a hard winter. I've seen death before."

"Even… even children?"

Now Merlin met his eyes. "Yeah."

"You saved them," said the prince, thinking back to the battle again.

Merlin, as always, followed his thought. "As many as I could." He looked away, then knelt to pull off Arthur's boots. "Doesn't seem like it was enough."

"Could have been so much worse, though. Would have been, if not for you."

Merlin shrugged, and didn't answer. Instead, he stood and moved to Arthur's bed, collecting his sleep clothes and tossing them over the changing screen. Arthur took the hint and levered himself to his feet. His muscles had stiffened up, and he had to bite back a groan of his own as he stood.

"I've liniment for after, if you want it," said Merlin.

"No, I'll be—" Arthur had to catch himself again as his knees buckled. Merlin was immediately by his side, throwing an arm around Arthur's waist and pulling Arthur's arm across his shoulders. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"I know. Let's get you into the bath."

"I might fall asleep in the water at this point."

"I'll be sure to smack you round the head every few minutes to keep you awake."

"You think you're funny."

The water was absolutely divine, the heat soaking into Arthur's aching body and coaxing him to relax for the first time in days. The scent of the herbs Merlin had added to the water helped to clear his head, and he breathed deep and let the steam enter his lungs.

He hadn't noticed when he'd closed his eyes, but a scraping sound had him opening them again. Merlin was pulling over one of the chairs from his table and setting the tray of dinner on it, within easy reach so that Arthur could eat in the tub. He lifted the lid and saw a dozen tiny meat pies, still hot but easy to eat with his fingers. Damned thoughtful of Merlin to bring these rather than something else.

It was a shame he was too tired to feel properly hungry; the pies were delicious when he popped one into his mouth, but he could only manage three or four of them before he waved at Merlin to come take the tray. "You should finish those before they get cold," he said, and ducked his head under the water before Merlin could protest.

Arthur could feel the heat seeping into his bones and making him drowsy now, so he picked up the rag and soap and did his best to scrub himself down before he really did fall asleep in the water.

The air in his chambers was cold on his skin when he stood and reached for the towel, but it wasn't the constant, clammy damp that he'd gotten used to over the past several days' ride. He didn't stink of sweat or smoke or horse, and when he toweled off there were dry clothes waiting for him draped over the changing screen. Arthur sighed at the feel of clean fabric on on clean skin, and dragged the towel through his hair one last time before he stepped out from behind the screen.

"Merlin," he called, and watched as his servant, his friend, jolted himself awake.

"Sorry, sire."

"Don't be ridiculous." Arthur shook his head, wondering what he'd done to earn such loyalty. "You're as exhausted as I am, and you still did all this. Go on, get some rest. Or if you want, the water's still hot. You probably need a bath as much as I needed one."

Merlin scrubbed at his face with both hands, blinking at Arthur sleepily. "Told you, I got a change of clothes. I washed up."

"Still. I wasn't expecting you to do much for me tonight, considering. You deserve something. Take the bath, if you want it. And make sure you finish those meat pies; it'd be a shame to waste them."

"I already ate them, Arthur, that's what put me to sleep."

Arthur staggered over to the bed and crawled in under the covers. The hot brick had chased all the chill from the sheets, and he sighed again in contentment. "I don't deserve you," he mumbled, already feeling his body growing heavy with sleep.

"Probably not," said Merlin, and Arthur smiled as his eyes fell shut. "But you have me anyway."

* * *

 

 _Children. There had been children_. The thought rattled through Merlin's mind again and again, refusing to grant him any rest. They'd gone after slavers, expecting that Arthur and his men would defeat them and return home as conquering heroes, as they almost always did. Instead, they'd inspired a slaughter, and Merlin hadn't been able to save everyone.

 _There had been children._ He didn't deserve to come home to a warm bed and rest. So many of those villagers would never see their loved ones again, because their loved ones were dead, and Merlin hadn't been able to do enough to stop them.

Their horses were exhausted and so were the men, all of them dispirited and listless, weighted down by their failure, and Merlin was no exception. But he had duties to see to, Arthur needed him, and in any case if Merlin was busy enough, maybe he wouldn't keep seeing the faces of the dead, over and over.

Arthur went off to report to the king, and Merlin stumbled up to his room, soaked to the skin and shivering with more than cold. He pulled out dry clothes, at least, and splashed some water over his face and hands to get the worst of the mud and soot off before he dressed and went back to work.

The other servants had either heard the word already or else they could see how bone-tired Merlin was, because when he grabbed a couple of buckets to begin filling Arthur's tub, three other young men stepped forward to help. The kitchen maids asked him what food he wanted on the tray to take to Arthur's chambers, and he picked out the meat pies, but left it to someone else to arrange and take up. "It'll be mulled wine for His Highness," said the chief cook, and Merlin nodded and secretly blessed her. He'd asked for something hot for Arthur to drink, but had been expecting nothing more than warmed cider.

The tub was filled faster than Merlin had ever seen it, and the tray was on the table with a full pitcher and mug beside it. Merlin had hoped that the work would take longer, that it would distract him from his thoughts. Still. He was grateful for the other servants' willingness to step in and assist. Merlin was so exhausted that he would likely have fallen down the stairs three times over, if he hadn't had their help.

The other servants offered him smiles and an invitation to come have a drink, on their way out. Merlin thanked them, but his mind was stuck one again on the people he'd failed to save. How could he allow other people to cheer him up, when he didn't deserve it?

Once everyone was gone, Merlin risked a little of his magic and lit the fire in the hearth, and made sure the water in Arthur's bath was steaming and that his dinner would not go cold. He found the soap and towels and the sprigs of herbs that he kept in Arthur's chamber for the purpose, and sprinkled some in Arthur's bathwater; pulled the bed covers back and stuck a brick under the sheets, heating it with a bit more magic since the fire hadn't been lit long enough to do the job.

He was standing in front of Arthur's wardrobe, picking out dry sleeping clothes, when the prince walked in. He looked terrible; still wearing damp, muddy clothing, with flecks of mud in his hair and soot darkening his collar and cuffs. He looked pale, washed out, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Merlin knew he felt the loss of those villagers at least as keenly as Merlin did himself. Likely more so.

Arthur froze for a moment, swaying on his feet, before he spoke. "What are you doing here?"

"Tending you," said Merlin. Maybe Arthur preferred to be alone right now, but Merlin didn't think that was what he needed most. "Is that a problem?"

"You're just as tired as I am," said Arthur. "When did… how did you…?" He shook his head and tried again. "Why are you here instead of resting?"

Merlin couldn't say that it was because he had to keep going or else he would see the dead, smell the smoke from the burning slave pens, remember the screams of burning children. "I've got Gaius," he said instead. "You've got me."

Arthur blinked, and swallowed, and glanced away. "You had time for all this?"

"Well, I may have recruited a little help." Merlin smiled tiredly. "Here. Sit. Let's get you out of that armor."

"But you—"

Merlin was not ready for whatever Arthur was about to say. Whether it was caring or concern, he couldn't take it in right now. "I'm the one has to scrub the mud from _your_ boots off these floors, I'll not have you tracking it in any further than that chair. Sit."

Arthur sat, too tired to even argue or point out his servant's insolence, and Merlin let himself worry over his prince instead of dwelling on the failures of the past few days. He crossed the room to start undressing Arthur, and Arthur noticed his limp.

"You're hurt," he said.

It was nothing, just a pulled muscle and fatigue more than anything. He'd turned his ankle a bit in the mud yesterday, but it wasn't serious. So Merlin didn't answer, just setting Arthur's sword and scabbard on the table and beginning the process of pulling off the armor pieces. Arthur didn't push for a response from Merlin, didn't insult him, didn't start their usual bantering game, and Merlin's worry grew. Arthur looked up after he got out of his hauberk and caught Merlin's expression.

"Stop your fretting," he said. "I'm fine."

The dead villagers. The children. The fire. The screams. The failure. "No, you're not."

Arthur sighed, and closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again refused to look at Merlin. "I will be." Then he frowned, and asked, "What about you?"

"Had a cup of hot tea and a change of clothes while you gave your report."

"That's not what I meant." And Merlin knew it, he did, but he was in no way prepared to talk about it. He'd probably break down crying in his room later, or maybe in front of Gaius, but not Arthur. Arthur needed someone to lean on right now, and Merlin was it.

So he shrugged and began unlacing the ties on Arthur's gambeson. "Raiders have hit Ealdor before," he said, which was true enough. "And sometimes people didn't make it through a hard winter. I've seen death before."

"Even… even children?"

Now Merlin met his eyes. "Yeah."

"You saved them," said the prince.

Merlin could almost hear Arthur's thoughts, and could only hope he wasn't blaming himself for being trapped by the battle and unable to help Merlin. "As many as I could." He looked away, then knelt to pull off Arthur's boots. "Doesn't seem like it was enough." And it wasn't, really. Even one innocent lost was one too many.

"Could have been so much worse, though. Would have been, if not for you."

Merlin swallowed hard, and didn't look up from his work. He couldn't bear to see whatever might be in Arthur's face right now, so he turned and moved to Arthur's bed, collecting his sleep clothes and tossing them over the changing screen. He kept his back turned, blinking back tears as Arthur stood up with a little noise of pain. The prince had lowered himself to dig graves for hours and hours yesterday, refusing to take a break even as he ordered the knights and survivors to work in shifts. Of course he'd be sore now.

"I've liniment for after, if you want it," said Merlin.

"No, I'll be—" Arthur cut off, clutching at the changing screen as his knees buckled. Merlin caught him and pulled Arthur's arm across his shoulders. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"I know," said Merlin. "Let's get you into the bath."

"I might fall asleep in the water at this point."

"I'll be sure to smack you round the head every few minutes to keep you awake."

"You think you're funny," said Arthur, but he was smiling as he said it. The expression was so tired-looking that it hurt Merlin to see it, but it was still better than letting him get lost in his thoughts.

Luckily Merlin didn't need to help the prince into the tub. He stood on the other side of the screen and listened as water splashed quietly, and Arthur took a deep, cleansing breath. All grew quiet, and Merlin realized that the odds were good that Arthur really would fall asleep in the tub, and if that happened, he wouldn't get anything to eat before tomorrow. So he pulled a chair over from the table, and set the dinner tray on it, within easy reach so that Arthur could eat in the tub.

Arthur lifted the lid and saw the meat pies, small enough to eat with one's fingers, and his eyebrows went up in satisfaction. It helped, knowing that he'd picked the right option for Arthur; he couldn't save all those captives, but he could serve his prince to the best of his abilities.

Unfortunately, Arthur was so exhausted that he only picked at the food, barely eating a third of it before he waved at Merlin to come take the tray. "You should finish those before they get cold," he said, and ducked his head under the water.

Well, it seemed a shame to waste them, and Merlin hadn't really had supper yet either; he gave Arthur his privacy and finished off the pies while he listened to the prince scrubbing himself down. The warmth from the fire and the food, the scent of the bathing herbs and the mulled wine, and the quiet noises behind the screen all lulled Merlin into a doze.

He startled when Arthur called his name. "Sorry, sire."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Arthur as he shook his head. "You're as exhausted as I am, and you still did all this. Go on, get some rest. Or if you want, the water's still hot. You probably need a bath as much as I needed one."

Merlin scrubbed at his face with both hands, struggling to wake back up. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, and a bath would surely do him in. He'd be lucky not to drown. "Told you, I got a change of clothes. I washed up."

"Still. I wasn't expecting you to do much for me tonight, considering. You deserve something. Take the bath, if you want it. And make sure you finish those meat pies; it'd be a shame to waste them."

The corner of Merlin's mouth quirked up. "I already ate them, Arthur, that's what put me to sleep."

Arthur staggered over to the bed and crawled in under the covers with a sigh of contentment. "I don't deserve you," he mumbled, already feeling his body growing heavy with sleep.

"Probably not," said Merlin, and Arthur smiled as his eyes fell shut. He was probably too far gone to hear the sincerity in Merlin's voice as he added, "But you have me anyway."

Soon enough, Arthur's breathing grew deep and slow, sleeping the sleep of the truly exhausted. Merlin pulled out the muscle liniment and set it where Arthur would find it in the morning, just in case, and gathered up the empty tray.

Then he looked around at the room, and set it down again. This could all wait till morning, couldn't it? Arthur would likely overlook his laziness, just this once. He'd seemed concerned about Merlin's own fatigue, and unfortunately, as much as Merlin really did not want to sleep tonight, he could feel that he was on the edge of the same precipice that had already claimed Arthur.

And that bath really did look inviting.

He moved as quietly as he could, undressing behind he screen and stepping into the tub. He barely remembered to take the charm off the water, so that it would cool down. It would be more than a little suspicious if Arthur were to wake to a bath left over from the night before that was still steaming.

The heat soaked into Merlin's bones and he found himself drooping forward until his chin touched the water. His eyes fell closed…

…and there were the faces of the dead. Burned, blackened corpses, too many of them far too small. The screams. The smell of smoke and cooking flesh. He jolted awake, his eyes flying open, and covered his mouth with his hands.

Merlin had done everything he could, and it hadn't been enough.

His tears fell, and he was too exhausted to stop them.

* * *

 

He had no idea how long he sat there, sniveling into the bathwater like a child, but eventually he got himself back under control, and splashed water on his face until the tear stains were gone. He climbed out of the tub, used Arthur's damp towel rather than dirty another, and got dressed. He was more exhausted than ever, now; the bath had felt good but had probably been a bad idea. His room might as well have been miles away, for how much energy Merlin had right now. The thought of dragging himself there before he could sleep did not appeal in the slightest.

Still. He couldn't exactly stay here. Arthur would not appreciate him taking that kind of liberty, no matter how exhausted they both were.

The armor and laundry could wait. The tub full of cooling water could wait. The empty dinner tray, he could at least bring back to the kitchens on his way to his own room.

* * *

 

He startled when he heard Gaius calling his name, somewhere in the corridors between where he'd been and where he was heading; Merlin wasn't even quite sure where he was, he was so tired. "There you are," Gaius was saying. "I've been looking for you."

"Sorry," mumbled Merlin, but Gaius only shook his head and placed a heavy hand on Merlin's shoulder.

"Nonsense, my boy. I've been worried. Arthur and the knights have been back for some time, and I haven't seen you." He   lifted Merlin's chin and looked him up and down, before he shook his head again. "Come with me, now."

"The kitchens—"

"Never mind that." Gaius flagged a passing servant and handed her Merlin's tray. Before Merlin's exhausted mind could register it, Gaius was chivvying him down the hall and toward his rooms. "You're limping."

"Just a pulled muscle."

When Merlin stumbled, tripping over his own feet, Gaius stopped and looked at him with concern etched in every line of his face. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Just tired."

"The same as all the knights, I shouldn't wonder," said Gaius, "only unlike them, you are still out of bed and tending to others before yourself."

Merlin sighed. "Arthur needed me," he said, leaving out the part where he'd hoped to push himself until he was too tired to have nightmares about his failure.

"I am sure he did," said the older man, "but what about you?"

"What?"

"Arthur has you to look after him when he needs it. You have me, and unlike Arthur you seem not to realize that you need to be cared for as well."

Merlin stopped. For some reason, Gaius's words hurt, and he found himself burying his face in his hands rather than show it.

"Come on, then," said Gaius, more gently this time. "Let's get you seen to."

* * *

 

He found himself sitting at Gaius's worktable with a bowl of hearty stew in front of him, and warmed cider to drink. Merlin hadn't thought he'd be hungry after finishing Arthur's meal, but he ate in a daze and ended up scraping the bowl clean.

"You've cleaned up, I see."

"Arthur let me use his bath," said Merlin.

Gaius didn't answer for a moment, but Merlin was too tired to look up and see the expression on his face. "Let's get you to bed," he said finally. He helped Merlin stand, and gave him someone to lean against when Merlin stumbled again.

"Sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for, my boy."

So it ws Gaius who helped Merlin walk back to his room and climb the steps when he tripped. It was Gaius who peeled Merlin out of his shirt and removed his boots, and Gaius who pulled the covers back on Merlin's bed.

It felt so good to have someone else manage things for once. Merlin took a deep breath and just… let go.

"I failed them, Gaius," he heard himself saying, already half-asleep.

"On the contrary, Merlin, you saved a great many. I heard Arthur's report, and word from the knights who came to see me."

"So many died."

"And far more would have died if you had not been there to rescue them. Dozens of people owe you their lives." Merlin could not keep his eyes open, but he felt Gaius's hand in his hair, soothing, so that it almost seemed to push him under and into sleep.

Gaius guided him down and put his head on the pillow, and he did not dream.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to leave extra kudos, you're welcome to stop by [my Tumblr blog](http://peaceheather.tumblr.com) and say hello.


End file.
